


Our Filthy Hands Can Wash One Another's

by rapacityinblue



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-05
Updated: 2012-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapacityinblue/pseuds/rapacityinblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at sexuality through Reeve's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Our Filthy Hands Can Wash One Another's

Sex had never been an act Reeve found especially appealing. It was something too open and painful, both for spiritual and bodily feeling. It was something easier to forget, to bury himself in work and ignore.

Dedication was what Reeve had, and he was able to give his entirety in everything he pursued – his reactors, AVALANCHE and the WRO. Reeve existed with the focused intensity of a man who had never paused to wonder what it would be like if there was someone waiting at home for him.

And so meeting Vincent Valentine (in person) for the first time was a shock.

It was difficult to remind himself that Cait's 'eyes' were advanced digital image recorders, his ears the same, only audial. There was simply a visceral reaction that he could never ignore, that the cat would never feel. For the first time, Reeve truly understood the phrase 'lost in translation'.

His first time had been with a prostitute. His fellow students had felt the necessity of hiring her and, confused and uncertain, he had gone ahead because he hadn't known what else to do. His first time acting on his own desires, he'd found himself in a dark bar in a darker section of Midgar, and had been left wondering if the rough grind and rutting of penetration was the same for women. The times after that had been sporadic.

It almost broke Reeve to realize he still _had_ fantasies that could be debunked – Vincent's fingers were warm against his skin.

It took Reeve years before he imagined that he could approach the other man, and if his fascination grew out of control, he let blame fall on Cait. It was, after all, the cat's fascination that left it staring for hours at Vincent, while Reeve lay in bed with his headset and simply listened. Almost like an addiction. And for his part, Vincent was silent if he even noticed, his gaze perpetually ahead on what had to be done. Vincent was oblivious, because he never looked over his shoulder, never saw the people guarding his back, never wondered 'what if?'.

Sometimes, what he saw in that red-cloaked stance left too much of a familiar taste in his mouth.

Almost like an addiction, after the floodgates opened and both became insatiable. Reeve found himself craving the hot slide of bodies together on the nights they were apart. This Reeve, long dormant, emerged with an ardor matched only by one that had been sleeping far longer.

And the old Reeve quickly learned to take comfort from the forested smell of Vincent's headband. Could not sleep without the rhythmic sound of snores he had so quickly adapted to.

What was amazing, he finally realized, was how life went on – and so often, he saw now, without the people living it.

And it would move on again. This respite would inevitably end, for one or both of them. He would greet that end ready to begin living. Until then was the reason to keep the toothpaste cap screwed on.

One hand reached out to smooth an errant lock of dark hair back onto the pillow. Maybe, he mused, if the planet was willing, he'd get to keep this addiction just a little while longer.


End file.
